


Seasons of Sunlight

by StarSpray



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:07:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8886805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSpray/pseuds/StarSpray
Summary: her attention was most taken by Glorfindel—up close he was even brighter, less a star than the sun.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lynndyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynndyre/gifts).



I.

She was in Mithlond when the ship arrived—very quietly, at dusk, in the early spring. It was a clear evening, Eärendil burning bright in the western sky. Nellas was almost certain she wasn’t supposed to be there, at this lonely, deserted part of the harbor. But she was, and she watched from behind a statue of Uinen as six passengers disembarked—five elderly looking Men, leaning on staffs, and one Elf. He was tall and golden-haired, and bowed to Círdan with courtly grace. There seemed to be a light shimmering in him, like a lamp behind a veil, only this veil seemed to be his skin. Over the waves slapping gently against the quays Nellas heard him speak in lilting tones, accented Sindarin she recognized—those who had once dwelled in Gondolin spoke similarly.

Nellas watched, curious, as Círdan led the strangers away. A few others loaded supplies and fresh water onto the ship, which departed as swiftly and silently as it arrived, with silver-haired mariners scurrying about the rigging, sails shimmering faintly silver in the starlight.

The next morning, word was all over Mithlond—Glorfindel of Gondolin had appeared out of the West. No one seemed to know how or why—and if Círdan knew, he wasn’t telling. And the day after that, Nellas was summoned to Círdan’s home. She often acted as a messenger, carrying letters or the occasional small package, anywhere from Annúminas (in the days when Arnor was a single united kingdom) to the Greenwood or Lórinand beyond the Misty Mountains.

Lord Glorfindel was with Círdan in his study, along with two of the strange Men, when Nellas arrived. The taller of the Men eyed her critically as she bowed; he had dark hair and wore pale robes, and his eyes were bright and sharp, missing nothing. His companion was clad in soft grey, and he smiled at Nellas. She smiled back, but her attention was most taken by Glorfindel—up close he was even brighter, less a star than the sun. He spared her a curious glance, but most of his attention was on the way the sunlight through the window refracted through the ruby-red Dorwinion wine in his glass. For a moment Nellas wondered what sort of wine they had drunk in Gondolin. She couldn’t imagine it was nearly as potent as the stuff from Dorwinion.

“Thank you for coming, Nellas,” Círdan said, ever graceful. “I know you dislike traveling at this time of year, but I have some rather important letters for Elrond, Galadriel, and Celeborn.” That caught Glorfindel attention, as Círdan held out the bundle of parchment.

Nellas accepted it. “Certainly, my lord.” She wouldn’t even have to go as far as Lórinand; Galadriel and Celeborn had spent the past few years in Imladris. “I shall leave immediately.”

“I thought you said the roads were terrible this time of year,” Glorfindel said, a little accusing, to Círdan.

“They are,” Nellas said. “Especially this year, with all the rain on top of the snow melt.” It was why she disliked travel in early spring. It took weeks to get the mud out of her things after.

“You assume Nellas is taking the roads,” Círdan chuckled. “Thank you Nellas.” She bowed again, and slipped out of the room.

 

 

II.

The next time Nellas saw Lord Glorfindel, it was summer in Rivendell. The sun was hot, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the river was flowing merrily along, lending its music to the singing in the valley. She had just arrived after spending a decade or so in the Greenwood, and was reacquainting herself with the trees in the valley, when she came upon him sitting in the branches of an ancient oak tree. He looked different, now. His gaze wasn’t quite so far away, and he was smiling absently as he basked in the dappled sunlight dancing through the leaves.

He opened his eyes as a nightingale came to alight on Nellas’ outstretched hand, trilling a greeting. “I remember you,” he said, straightening and shaking a few twigs from his hair. He wore it loose, so it fell rippling over his shoulders. “You were Círdan’s messenger.”

“Sometimes,” Nellas agreed. The nightingale was busy filling her in on all the woodland gossip, most of which she couldn’t follow because it had been so long.

“Your name is Nellas, isn’t it?” Glorfindel asked. He watched the nightingale fly away. “The same Nellas who dwelled in Doriath, and befriended Túrin Turambar?”

“I am from Doriath,” Nellas said, carefully. Speaking of Túrin was always tricky, and she preferred to avoid it. But Glorfindel did not look as though he ever avoided anything. “But how did _you_ know that?”

His smile was sunny. “Did you not know your name had made it into the records? You spoke for Túrin before Thingol, did you not?”

She had not known. “I did.”

Then the conversation took a sudden turn. “I knew his father,” Glorfindel said; his smile slipped away. “Húrin. He and Huor dwelled for a time in Gondolin, in their youth. That is also in the records; I suppose it wasn’t worth keeping a secret anymore once Gondolin was no more.” He leaned back against the tree trunk. “I thought everyone would be as young as—well, as Elrond, or Celebrían. It is a relief to know I am not the only one who remembers the glories of the First Age.”

That wasn’t quite fair, Nellas thought. Gondolin had been glorious, and so had been Nargothrond and Menegroth and other places. But the Second Age had had its glories, too. Númenor had been glorious indeed, by all accounts. And Eregion had been beautiful. Khazad-dûm still was. But what she said was, “Just because someone is younger than you does not mean they are a child.” That startled a laugh out of him—he laughed very easily, she was finding. “And there are still others who remember the First Age.” She jumped up to catch the branch above her head, swinging for a moment before hauling herself up. “Good afternoon, my Lord Glorfindel.”

Later, she saw him in the Hall of Fire, sitting by Master Elrond. Nellas was certain that Elrond—who was more clearly of the line of Lúthien than of Turgon—was not what Glorfindel had expected. But they sat with their heads bent together, shoulders brushing. Elrond laughed at something Glorfindel said, and Nellas smiled, as she found a seat near Lindir as he tuned his harp. Whatever the Valar’s reasons, she thought it was good that Glorfindel had come to Rivendell.

 

 

III.

It was autumn when the White Council finally mounted an attack upon Dol Guldur. Nellas served as a scout, and found herself often reporting to Glorfindel, who had the field command (though he clashed often with Saruman, who disliked taking orders from any, seeming to see it as a slight to his own power and wisdom). He was, swift and fierce and fearless in battle, so that the orcs quailed before him—for they had their own tales from ancient days, of terrible flame-eyed warriors with swords that bit like cold fire.

For her part, Nellas kept to the trees, and made use of her bow. But one orc got too close, and jumped up high enough to grab a hold of her ankle. Nellas shrieked as she lost her grip and plummeted down, hitting the ground hard enough to drive all the air from her lungs. Choking and gasping, she rolled, narrowly avoiding an iron blade to the face, but she was not swift enough to pull her knife before the orc grabbed her by the hair, lifting her easily off the ground. Only the orc never got a chance to cut her throat or run her through, before his head parted ways with his neck. Nellas dropped to the ground along with the orc, and learned the hard way that her ankle had been sprained, or possibly broken.

It was Glorfindel who had saved her. He stood shining like a star fallen to earth, the Light of Valinor in him unveiled in his wrath. “Can you stand?” he asked, as he hauled her to her feet. Nellas fell against him, which seemed to be answer enough. Without further ado, he sheathed his sword and scooped her up. “You know,” he said as he carried her away from the battle, “most of us spend all our time on the ground. It affords much firmer footing.”

“Yes, well,” Nellas said, still trying to get her breath back, “orcs can’t usually _reach_ that high.” These were _big_ orcs, much bigger than the little mountain orcs she was used to encountering.

The wounded were gathered away from the fighting, and it was here that they found Elrond, who sported his own bandages, though that did not stop him from tending to others—or defending them, when spiders or orcs got past the rest of the army. He was busy stitching up a very ugly looking wound, so Glorfindel set Nellas down and tugged off her boot himself, waving away her protests. “Just let me see,” he said, gently prodding the already-swelling skin with his fingers. The pain eased almost immediately. “It isn’t broken,” he said, “but you must rest it.” He handed her her bow. “But I am certain you won’t let that stop you, should something happen.”

Nellas smiled at him. “Thank you, my lord,” she said. Someone else came over to wrap her ankle, and she watched Glorfindel stop to speak with Elrond before leaving. Elrond frowned, and the discussion turned into a small argument, though she couldn’t tell what it was about.

“Lord Glorfindel wants Master Elrond to stay back,” said the healer tending her ankle, seeing where Nellas was looking. “But you mark my words, they’ll both be at the front when they bring down Dol Guldur.”

The healer was right—or at least partly right. Elrond and Glorfindel were at the front, with Galadriel, Mithrandir, and Saruman, when Gorthaur finally fled. But Dol Guldur was not brought down that day, and Gorthaur himself slipped away past their leaguer, like a snake in the tall grass.

“We delayed too long,” she heard Elrond say after. “He has grown stronger than we thought.”

“Yet not so strong that he cannot be defeated,” Saruman replied. “We will challenge him again, in time. And with warriors of such power as Lord Glorfindel, how can we not prevail?”

Glorfindel stood nearby, blood-spattered but neither weary nor hurt. His smile was blinding as the sun—but like the sun, he seemed to illuminate everyone around them. Saruman was right, Nellas thought. Looking at Glorfindel it was easy to believe in victory.

 

 

IV.

“Are you certain letting them go was the right thing to do?” Glorfindel asked as they watched the Fellowship disappear into the gloaming. Nellas, perched in a tree nearby, huddled in her cloak and peered down at Master Elrond, who shook his head. “The younger is not even of age according to their people,” Glorfindel continued, but it sounded like an argument made many times before.

“Mithrandir advocated their going,” Elrond said.

“Mithrandir is not all-knowing.”

“Neither are we.” Elrond smiled, a little crookedly, at Glorfindel. “This is a mission of secrecy and stealth. Neither are your strengths, my friend.”

Glorfindel shrugged. The wind picked up, blowing his hair across his face. “I dislike sitting idly while war rages,” he said.

“Then take a message to Halbarad. Tell him that Aragorn has embarked on a journey to the South.”

“Is that all I should say?”

“Say it is a quest of the utmost importance and secrecy. The Dúnedain must be ready—for both victory and defeat.”

Nellas shuddered, and dropped to the ground as they went inside. She had been thinking of it for a while, but now she was certain—whatever happened to poor Frodo Baggins and his companions, her time in Middle-earth was coming to an end. Master Elrond had already asked her to take messages to Círdan at the Havens. This time, she would not be coming back.

But when it came time to leave, she found she was not alone. “Shall we travel together?” he asked, leading Asfoloth across the courtyard to where Nellas stood. “At least as far as Bree. I hear you are taking ship.”

“Yes,” Nellas said. She’d already been given a whole bundle of letters from various acquaintances to take West, though she had no idea how she was to find all the intended recipients. “I’m not sure I want to see how this all ends.”

Glorfindel swung into the saddle. “Come on, then. It’s a long walk to Bree, and not all of it is wooded.” He grinned down at her. Nellas smiled back, and let him pull her up behind him.

“Why bells?” she asked, as Asfoloth made his way up the winding path out of the valley.

“You heard Elrond,” Glorfindel said. “I cordially dislike subtlety.” He glanced over his shoulder at Nellas. “Yes, I saw you up there, eavesdropping.”

“It isn’t eavesdropping if you aren’t _trying_ to listen,” Nellas said primly.

“I suppose you know better than I do.”

They rode in silence for a while, the only sounds the clip-clop of Asfoloth’s hooves and the jingling of his bells. Finally, Nellas asked the question she’d had in the back of her mind since she’d first seen him step off the swan-ship in Mithlond: “Why did you come back to Middle-earth?”

“Well,” he said slowly, “it was the desire of the Valar. But it wasn’t to please them that I agreed.” Nellas laughed. “What’s so funny?”

“I would expect nothing less from a Noldo who crossed the Helcaraxë into Exile,” she said. “But then why _did_ you agree?”

“Because I swore an oath—I know, I know, we ridiculous Noldor and our oaths, yes?” he tried to sound put-upon, but Nellas could hear the smile in his voice as she laughed again. But he sobered quickly. “I swore to Turgon in the midst of Gondolin’s ruin that I would watch over his family, as best I could. I didn’t get very far, as you know. Tuor and Idril don’t need watching over now, and Eärendil is the one doing the watching.” He glanced upward, though it was the middle of the day and Gil-Estel would not be visible yet for hours. “But Elrond was still here, so I came—and I would be lying if I said I was not curious to see what the world looked like after the destruction of Beleriand. And now that we are coming to the end of this Age, I shall remain at Elrond’s side to see it through, for good or ill.”

They parted just outside Bree, at sunset. Once, Elves were as commonplace in the town’s inns as Dwarves, but times had changed. “Do you have any messages for me to take across the Sea?” Nellas asked.

“I’ve already slipped them into your bundle,” he said, smiling, as she dropped lightly to the ground, ice crunching beneath her feet. “May the stars light your path, Nellas of Doriath.”

“Farewell, Glorfindel of Gondolin,” she replied. And then he was gone, in a tinkling of silver bells and a flash of bright gold in the fading light. Nellas looked up to see Gil-Estel burning bright overhead. She sighed, and at long last turned her feet westward.

 

 

V.

It was spring again when the ship sailed into Avallónë on a bright, sunny afternoon. Nellas was there purely by coincidence, for the fish market, with her sister. But the crowd at the peer drew their attention—especially since they recognized Turgon there, towering above nearly everyone, and Lady Celebrían with her bright silver hair, which meant Elrond was there, too. Nellas left her sister to haggle, and slipped through the crowd to see what all the fuss was about.

She started to laugh the moment she spotted the passengers on the deck. There were Elladan and Elrohir, leaning so far over the railing to wave at their parents they were in danger of falling, and beside them stood Glorfindel, with his bright hair loose and damp with spray. The moment the ship drew close enough, he leaped onto the quay, and at least half a dozen people converged upon him. It was a reunion like any other, filled with laughter and tears and admonishments ( _what took you so long?_ ).

“Well, who’s arrived?” her sister asked when Nellas rejoined her.

“Master Elrond’s sons,” Nellas said. “And Lord Glorfindel.”

“Glorfindel the Beloved!” exclaimed the fish merchant, once of Gondolin himself, in delight. “He has been sorely missed. But now he is home—that is good.”

“Yes,” Nellas agreed, as the crowd passed them by. She could just see Glorfindel near the center of it, with one of his arms around Turgon, and the other around someone she didn’t recognize, while he laughed at something Elrond was saying. Everyone was coming home.


End file.
